


Goodbye at the Driveway

by Demus



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Couches, M/M, Making Out, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demus/pseuds/Demus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'It never starts the same way. There might be a set to Rhett’s shoulders, an impenetrable glint to his eyes, an abruptness to his speech...This time, his jaw is tight with it. You wouldn’t see it unless you knew where to look, unless you’d traced out countless times the jut of his chin, the soft curve of his cheek. </p>
<p>Link sees it. There will be no goodbye at the driveway this evening.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye at the Driveway

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer; This is a work of fiction starring fictionalised versions of real people. No claims are made about the people in this story or the relationship here protrayed.

It never starts the same way. There might be a set to Rhett’s shoulders, an impenetrable glint to his eyes, an abruptness to his speech...This time, his jaw is tight with it. You wouldn’t see it unless you knew where to look, unless you’d traced out countless times the jut of his chin, the soft curve of his cheek.  
  
Link sees it. There will be no goodbye at the driveway this evening.  
  
He calls Christy, talks it out with her – she was planning to take the kids over to the McLaughlin household anyway, they're overdue a playdate and she has a project to discuss with Jessie – Link can hear the knowing smile in her voice, tells her he loves her because he does and because she flushes so prettily when he says it aloud. He can hear that blush too in her answering laughter.  
  
When the time comes to leave the studio, Rhett is a brooding presence in the passenger seat, silent and still. He doesn't comment when Link carries on past the turn-off for his road. His hands are folded in his lap, loosely clasped, and his knuckles tighten when they finally reach Link's cul-de-sac. Link eyes him for a moment, considering...but the car is too small, too cramped, and far too public for what Rhett wants, so he yanks the keys free of the ignition with a decisive click and clambers out, not bothering to look behind as the other door slams shut.  
  
Rhett shadows Link up the drive, so close then he can feel the heat from the other man’s skin, and he pauses at the stoop to throw a quizzical look up at his friend, raising an eyebrow in question. _Really?  
  
Really.  
  
_Link shrugs and flicks open the latch. His is not to reason why, not on days like these when Rhett waits in his hallway like a leashed animal, eye focused on every move as Link locks the door and drops his keys onto the hall table. “You want to shower? I could order something in.”  
  
He makes the offer casually, knowing that Rhett won’t make a move without express permission; this is his home, there are rules. His friend sighs, blowing air through his teeth with audible impatience. “Well, okay then, but you’re buying me a pizza after.” Link grins, unable to stop himself because Rhett’s lip is just starting to tense with impatience. “C’mon, son, what are you waiting for, a written invite?”  
  
The words have barely left his lips when Rhett strides forwards. He catches Link by the upper arm and shoves him back, startling a yelp from him; Link feels Rhett’s smile before he gets any chance at seeing it, curved lips fastening over his, asking for that written invitation all over again. It’s a testament to how often Rhett gets like this that he has avoided skewering him on the door handle. Link, surprise fading as he settles into the familiar warmth and taste, resists the urge to nip in retaliation. Rhett doesn’t need any encouragement to be rough.  
  
Speaking of which, there's a leg pushing itself between his, forcing his knees to part. He's feeling generous so he allows it, and Rhett presses close in a heartbeat. His lips are dry and he smells of cotton with an old, stale whiff of cologne, thankfully not strong enough to induce a headache, and of himself – a day of filming has left him just little lived-in, the scent of his own sweat and exertion – heat is starting to coil low in Link's stomach and he shifts in place, running his hands up his friend's arms to rest at the back of his neck. _Hey, baby.  
  
_ Sly fingers rake up his shirt. He startles, breaking away from Rhett and smacking his shoulder. “Not in the hallway,” he admonishes, only a little out of breath. “Last time you-”  
  
Rhett kisses him again, forestalling his complaint, but his hands obediently halt their uphill climb. “Couch?” he asks, when they part for breath. It’s the first time he’s spoken since they wrapped their last GMM shoot and his voice is soft, as though his throat were dry with misuse.  
  
“What’s wrong, sugar, can’t get up the stairs in them tight pants?” Link teases, using Lohn’s redneck twang and wriggling against the leg that has him pinned.  
  
Rhett snorts. His fingers twitch, tickling, which only makes Link wriggle more to try and get away. “ _Couch,_ ” he says again, pointedly.  
  
Link laughs. He gives up on trying to escape, instead tugging at his friend's shoulders, confident that he will be able to distract him from teasing. “You didn't even buy me dinner.”  
  
Long fingers still. Rhett doesn't snap back with a quip, doesn't chase the joke; instead, he shrugs out his shoulders, muscles shifting under Link's loose clasp, and leans his forehead against Link's, closing his eyes. A hot rush of breath mists Link's glasses. _Please_.  
  
Who is he to deny nice manners? _Okay._ He strokes the back of Rhett's neck, testing the edge of his T-shirt, then nudges him back a little bit so he can tilt his head, finding Rhett's lips with the ease of long, long practice. Rhett's shoulders pull tight once more. He growls, just a little, just a hum of noise that reverberates through Link's lips, setting his skin a-quiver.  
  
Before Rhett can get too lost in his kiss and finish what he started right here in the hallway, Link urges him back; Lord knows, Rhett's tumbled him along in his wake often enough that he knows the signs, and he really doesn't want to deal with bruises from the walls this time. Rhett complies. He shifts his weight back, reluctance in every movement. Link takes the chance to duck out of his grip, grinning at Rhett's ensuing chuff of irritation, and takes his hand to pull him along.  
  
They make their way down the hall to the living room, stumbling over the threshold when Rhett lunges in for a kiss, and Link grabs for the door, misses by a sizeable margin and is yanked up into Rhett's embrace before he can overbalance. _Watch your back!  
  
_ Rhett's not listening. He's far too busy re-acquainting himself with the topography of Link's mouth to listen, one arm curved at the small of his back and the other sneaking its way into Link's hair. His lips drag against Link's as long fingers card through his hair, tugging a little where they tangle in stiff, product-brittle strands. Link's hands are trapped between their chests by Rhett's clasp, so he strokes at the material of his friend's T-shirt, as soothingly as he is able. The couch is only a few steps away now, but he's rapidly losing the will to press the matter; Rhett's kiss is fierce, demanding with an urgent edge that Link doesn't even want to resist.  
  
He's just resigning himself to a long night with the witch hazel when Rhett draws back. Link, distracted, almost follows him, but is stopped by the soft brush of Rhett's nose alongside his own. _Couch?  
  
Smart-ass.  
  
_Rhett smirks. This close, the only way Link can tell is by the crinkling of his eyes. They're so close that he can see the tiny flecks of gold that bead through blue-green irises. He wonders, for a brief moment, what Rhett can see in his own eyes when they're like this.  
  
Whatever it is, it's clearly not enough for him to see it through glass. The world blurs as Rhett tugs the spectacles from his face. He unhooks the arms first, tilting so that the curved end lifts away from Link's ears in a ghost of a touch, almost unbearably intimate. Link bites his tongue and pointedly doesn't joke about how much his view has improved now that Rhett's face is just a blur of colours and shapes; he's made that joke so many times that Rhett could probably say it along with him.  
  
Plastic clatters against the door jamb when Rhett's arm slides around his back, urging him forwards. “Hey, watch my gla-”  
  
He doesn't get a chance to finish scolding. Rhett crowds him down onto the couch, absent-mindedly dropping the glasses onto the coffee table before he clambers on, nudging pointedly until Link wriggles his way up the cushions to where Rhett wants him.  
  
 _Oh, you are getting me the_ biggest _pizza.  
  
_ Rhett appears to be ignoring him – mentally, at least. He settles himself down over Link with satisfied slowness, easing into position. His hands are wandering already, tracing nonsense into the fabric of Link's shirt, and he leans down for a kiss.  
  
Link doesn't notice where Rhett has put his hand to brace himself until pain flares, sudden white heat, and he flinches. Rhett stills and Link lets out his pain-seized breath, forcing clenched muscles to relax and settling back into the cushions. “Sorry,” he says, as the white heat fades. “Went over the handlebars on Saturday.”  
  
A pause. Rhett shifts, heaving himself up to sit back on his heels. Link moves to follow suit but a quick touch stops him; Rhett pets his chest in distracted thanks then eases up the hem of his shirt, exposing what Link knows to be an impressive scrape complete with indigo bruises, just where Rhett had leaned to balance himself. He lets out a low whistle. “Do we need to talk about increasing your life insurance?”  
  
“It's a scratch, man.” Link shifts, uncomfortable under the intensity of Rhett's stare. “Want to kiss it better?”  
  
“I'm serious.” Surprised, Link looks up to see the muscles in Rhett's jaw working. He runs careful fingers over the edge of the wound. “One of these days you'll flip right over those handlebars and end up at the bottom of a cliff, or something.”  
  
He snorts, incredulous. “Melodramatic, don't you think?”  
  
Rhett sighs. When they were kids he was almost as clumsy as Link, but the series of rapid growth spurts that left him towering over all of the others has trained him to be cautious in ways Link never learned. His brow has furrowed, lips pursing into the bare beginnings of a frown. Link, aware of how quickly Rhett's moods can shift, catches his hand before he can stroke again, bringing it to his lips, holding Rhett's gaze as he drops a kiss to his friend's palm. _I know you mean it. Lighten up, huh?  
  
_ A twitch of the eyebrows, then Rhett leans down to kiss him again, fingers curling briefly to stroke against his temple before sliding down, raising goosebumps in their wake as he begins to pop the buttons on Link's shirt. Link hums his approval, tilting his head to lick into his friend's mouth, enjoying his muffled grunt of surprise.  
  
This is what he likes best. Making out on the couch like the teenagers they were never quite brave enough to be, hands wandering, Rhett's weight smothering-heavy as he settles in, grasping touches and hard angles. They're too old for this, too big for the couch, too cynical to see any romance in it, and all too aware of exactly how ridiculous they are. Link is finding it difficult to care. They've awkwardly shoved aside the bare minimum of clothes, Rhett's beard is rough against his cheeks and his hands slip with sweat as he begins the first, infinitesimal rock of his hips; he squirms against the scrape of the denim, friction sweetsore...  
  
For all that he likes to pretend for the camera and for the Mythical Beasts, Rhett isn't a stoic man's man – here, in the epicentre of intimacy, he is gently, sweetly vocal. He whispers love, pants lust, breathes desire and trust against Link's skin. Link answers him – he is louder, obviously, his nerves tingle with discomfort at each involuntary gasp, but Rhett responds to every sound, pressing closer, squeezing tighter. Link is struggling to keep track of where his hands are. The world has narrowed somewhat abruptly to one pulsing, desperate point. He hears himself protest, wordless and rasping in the back of his throat. He shudders to think what he looks like, wide-mouthed and flushed, but there's an answering reverberation from Rhett's chest, equally wordless, rumbling low.  
  
There is a tightening, a shift in the gears, and he is cresting the rise, coming with a suddenness that startles another cry from him. He thrusts, needing Rhett's heat and the solidness of him, struggling up against a weight is so familiar, against a body whose shadow is carved deep into his bones, until the last echo of the white noise has faded into silence.  
  
Realisation of cold stickiness dawns. Urgh. _You did that on purpose.  
  
Guilty as charged.  
  
_Rhett isn't tactile, not like Jessie, not like Link, but he stretches like a satisfied cat, arching his back and pushing angular hip bones uncomfortably close. Link groans a protest, too drained to push him away, and Rhett chuckles, flopping back against him with a low rumble of amusement.  
  
 _Settle down, brother.  
  
_ It would be nice to have the leverage to jab him with an elbow, but honestly he's just as tired and years of squabbling have long since proved how futile it is to resist when Rhett pulls the 'I'm dead' move. Instead, he only huffs an annoyed breath. _You settle down._  
  
In answer, Rhett noses sleepily at Link's shoulder. “Nap?”  
  
“Oh no,” Link says, raising a hand to tap his forehead. He misjudges the distance - a failure of hand-eye coordination that he chooses to blame on the man currently lying mostly on top of him – and ends up somewhere around Rhett's ear, but it registers his protest nonetheless. “You owe me a pizza. And I need to shower, so get your ass off of me and onto the phone.”  
  
He wonders, as Rhett grudgingly begins the slightly involved process of extricating himself from the couch, what exactly brought that tightness to his friend's jaw, what it was that brought him stalking up the drive with only one thought on his mind.  
  
They might have to talk about that.

 


End file.
